Thursday, April 5, 2012

The Dead Bunny

Dead BunniesI'm not even going to touch that one Write wherever the prompt inspires you, fiction or non-fiction, prose or poetry. Do try and keep things at a PG-13 level, though.

Please make sure to read my fellow blog chain buddies posts (below) and see what they can do when asked to write a post about Dead Bunnies. They are very clever! I might be adding more as the month progresses.

Here is my submission, oh and I really wish this was a fictional piece, sadly it isn't:

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The entity remained fixed on the side of her house. Weeds grew against its round concrete frame, every Spring they had to be removed. It was her task. She dreaded that side of the house because of the menacing entity that taunted her. Its foreboding black pipe reached out of its leaden lid and bent at an angle parallel to the muddy earth, it had just enough space around it to shake. And when it shook she would barely have time to run from it before the black hose erupted sending water from the dark depths of the unknown.

One particular year the round concrete frame cracked, a triangular piece went missing and no one could explain its disappearance. Nevertheless, the weeds at their fullest in the beginning of Spring still had to be cleared. Skittish and uncertain, she made her way to the right side of the house to finish the chore.

As she came closer, her body tensed. Something moved in the weeds. Had the entity amassed some new devilry? Had its evil presence seeped into the untouched soil? Had the weeds become alive? She was letting her imagination lead her down a frightening path, she nervously laughed at herself. Then saw movement again.

Taking a step backward, she surveyed her surroundings. Children were playing across the street, her husband was mowing the lawn and neighbors were doing exactly what she was doing, pulling weeds, she felt silly. She boldly stepped forward. She ever so quietly she peered into the mangled foliage. A smile came to her face. It was a bunny, so small that if you gently cupped your hands together the furry little animal would rest snuggly there.

She had no intention of scooping the bunny in the palms of her hands but she did stepped toward it to get a closer look. She startled the animal and it hopped away. But where? It seemed to have disappeared, until she heard the splash.

The birds stopped in mid song, crickets ceased their chirping and the cicada’s hum went silent. Her eyes grew wide as she realized the horror brought from her actions. The cute baby bunny jumped down the sump pump. She could hear more splashing as the bunny struggled in the deep darkness of the round, concrete cistern. The sounds of nature returned as if crying out to her to help one of their own. And she ran across the yard, she ran to the sound of the lawnmower. Waving her hands in the air, calling out to her husband. Having his attention, she ran back to the right side of the yard and he followed her, not knowing what to expect. He could not understand her incoherent babbling. The children across the street followed her husband. The neighbor’s heads snapped up from their yard work. She had successfully created a scene.

Once her husband caught up to her he found her kneeling next to the sump pump. She explained to him the horror that had unfolded. They both turned an ear towards the triangular opening and heard nothing but silence. He looked over at her and then the children that had gathered behind them. His face told her everything. He could not open it in front of the inquisitive children. The risk of having them mimic him in the future was too great. He had to use the situation to explain the dangers of the sump pump. He explained how deep it went down into the earth and how very heavy the cement lid was. She listened to him and she knew. She knew the bunny was dead. Forever entombed in the sump pump.

21 comments:

I have a fondness for bunnies, so this makes me want to cry when I picture the poor little thing stuck down there, slowly dying. And to know it isn't fiction...poor thing. Good job on pulling my heartstrings.

Oh, Noooo!!! Awww, Suzanne, I'm so sorry--what a sad moment in time. Admire you, and your husband for caring enough to keep your own emotions in check for the sake of the children in the neighborhood, no sense in having such a memory haunt them as much as it must haunt you--cheers to your courage!

Enjoyed this read in spite of the less than ideal/happier outcome. They say it's the thought that counts, so never forget your heart was in the right place that day.

Poor bunny, but good story! For a minute I thought that perhaps some kind of horrible monstrosity had reached out from the sump pump and pulled it in-- but then I re-read that this actually happened, lol.